


Kiss Him Once for Me

by PoeFaraday



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Breathplay, D/s undertones, Dirty Talk, Hair-pulling, Holiday Work Party AU, M/M, MASSIVELY under-negotiated kink more like, Rimming, Sneaking Around Your Boss's House AU, Under-negotiated Kink, but they both get off on it so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-08
Updated: 2015-12-08
Packaged: 2018-05-05 16:25:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5381999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoeFaraday/pseuds/PoeFaraday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As far as d’Artagnan is concerned, Burl Ives can suck a dick.</p><p>He’s refilled his egg nog - which the host had so graciously spiked with a generous measure of Maker’s Mark - three times already and is feeling quite good. His Christmas would be just a mite hollier and jollier if someone would come kiss him already. And by someone, he means Porthos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss Him Once for Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cherryfeather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryfeather/gifts).



> Unbeta'ed so be gentle. This was going to go straight to tumblr, but it grew legs so I put it here instead. 
> 
> Thanks to the always wonderful and thoroughly unhelpful Liz, whom I love very much.

As far as d’Artagnan is concerned, Burl Ives can suck a dick.

He’s refilled his egg nog - which the host had so graciously spiked with a generous measure of Maker’s Mark - three times already and is feeling quite good. His Christmas would be just a mite hollier and jollier if someone would come kiss him already. And by someone, he means Porthos.

They’d flirted at work for the past four months. They’d even gone on a couple of dates, all of which d’Artagnan had thought went well. Porthos had just seemed... not disinterested, that was for certain. In fact, he had always seemed very interested. So d’Artagnan isn’t sure what the issue is. Maybe he isn’t out yet. Maybe he has just gotten over a bad breakup. Maybe he just isn’t the commitment type. Whatever it is, d’Artagnan is feeling quite forlorn about the whole thing. As he stands on the edge of the room, near the archway in which hangs a festive little sprig of mistletoe - the real thing, which d’Artagnan hadn’t known until he’d reached up to touch it nearly two hours ago - he watches Porthos chatting and laughing, beer in hand, cheeks rosy with the warmth in the room. D’Artagnan has to stifle a whine, and barely manages to prevent himself from pouting. He doesn’t want to lose his place by the mistletoe, just in case, but he also is not one to let something he wants slip him by.

“Hey,” he says as casually as he can, once he’s grit his teeth and marched across the party to Porthos. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Porthos turns with a grin. “It is a work party,” he chuckles, holding out an arm to pull d’Artagnan into a sort-of hug. “Of course I’m here.”

“Can you believe de la Fere actually invited everyone here?” d’Artagnan asks, trying to make meaningful small talk in the hopes that it will turn less small very quickly. “I genuinely thought he lived at the office.”

Porthos looks around at the large parlor. The house is old, but pretty well-kept, and the decorations look professional. He can’t imagine Athos living here full time, for sure, but at least he keeps it orderly. “I guess there’s a lot more to him than what he shows off at work,” he comments. “I’m glad you came, actually. I’ve been meaning to chat with you but the workload’s been off the charts because of the holiday crunch.”

“Oh?” d’Artagnan replies, as coy as he can be. “Something important?”

Porthos smiles a little, glancing down at the floor. “Yes, I should think so. But, ah... ‘s a bit loud in here. Can we maybe...”

“Absolutely.” d’Artagnan takes Porthos’s hand and leads him through the cluster of people in the parlor, over towards his archway, hoping that he isn’t being too obvious.

“Alright,” Porthos says once they are a safe distance away from the bulk of the crowd. “So, ah... I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this, exactly. I don’t really have a whole lot of experience talking about things like this. I...I really like you, d’Artagnan. I’ve wanted to tell you that for a while. The thing is, I’ve never gone with a guy before. I’ve been with women, and I’ve liked men, but I’ve never...met one that I’ve wanted to...” He blushes and sucks in a breath through his teeth, huffing it out in a shy laugh. “Sorry, maybe I’m being too foward--”

In an instant, d’Artagnan has an arm around Porthos’s neck and is pulling him in for a kiss. A surprised little breath leaves Porthos’s lips, and d’Artagnan can feel how hard his heart is beating through the pulse in his neck. After a moment’s hesitation, Porthos puts his hands on d’Artagnan’s hips, the weight of them renewing d’Artagnan’s resolve. He deepens the kiss, backing Porthos up against the archway, which draws a soft moan from him. Once d’Artagnan begins to feel lightheaded, he pulls away, keeping his arm on Porthos, his eyes heavy-lidded.

“Holy fuck,” Porthos breathes.

“I’ve never been kissed under mistletoe before,” d’Artagnan explains, equally breathless. “I wanted to make it count.”

“That more than counted,” Porthos laughs. “I, ah... do you know if there’s a bathroom around?”

D’Artagnan chuckles, leaning in and slotting his knee against Porthos’s thigh. “I could help you find one.”

A strangled sound escapes Porthos’s mouth, and his hand circles d’Artagnan’s free wrist. “Come here,” he says, dragging d’Artagnan into the hallway. The light is dimmer out here, and the sounds of the party are softer. The grand staircase leads up to a dark second floor, and Porthos fumbles for a light switch as he tugs d’Artagnan up the stairs.

“Oh my God, we’re sneaking around our manager’s house,” d’Artagnan giggles. “This is the best fucking Christmas ever.”

Porthos can’t help but grin as he realizes just what they are up to. “You’ll have to be quiet, then - we wouldn’t want to get caught.”

“I’ll have to be quiet?” d’Artagnan asks with a playful scoff. “Is that so?”

Porthos glances back at him, an eyebrow raised. “Don’t tell me you don’t want me to rail you - to plow you into the fucking mattress until you see stars.”

D’Artagnan has to bite down on the wrist Porthos isn’t holding to stifle his moan as Porthos leads him into a room. Porthos quickly switches on the lamp beside the bed and turns to throw an arm around d’Artagnan’s waist, pulling him flush against his broad chest. “Jesus fuck, you’re sexy,” Porthos breathes, devouring his lips. His hands slide down d’Artagnan’s back, over the curve of his ass, molded by the well-fitted khakis he’s wearing. They stop at d’Artagnan’s thighs, and Porthos bends slightly before lifting d’Artagnan off his feet, wrapping those thighs around his waist. D’Artagnan whines, his arms around Porthos’s neck for safety, and Porthos turns to carry him closer to the bed. Once close enough, he throws d’Artagnan down on his back, causing the mattress springs to creak. D’Artagnan reaches for him, but Porthos kneels on the hardwood floor, making quick work of d’Artagnan’s trouser front. Pulling them off in one motion, he dives in, lavishing kisses and mouthing all over his thighs and stiff prick.

“Porthos...” d’Artagnan moans, reaching down to tangle his long fingers in Porthos’s thick curls, encouraging him in his present vocation. And then-- “Porthos!” he gasps sharply, a probing tongue causing his body to arch off the bed.

“You stay right here,” Porthos growls from between d’Artagnan’s legs, hooking his strong arms around the boy’s thighs and holding him in place as he buries his face back between d’Artagnan’s cheeks. D’Artagnan tries to thrash against the mattress, but Porthos’s strength is enough to limit his range of motion, so the younger man is reduced to howling into his shirtsleeve.

“Fuck, Porthos... oh Jesus, fuck, please let me suck your cock,” d’Artagnan moans as quietly as he can, breathless from the pleasure of having Porthos’s skilled tongue pressing insistent against his ass. “Please...”

“I’m not done with you yet.”

D’Artagnan whines. “Then fucking get up here and put your fucking cock in my mouth while you work,” he complains, drumming his feet against the edge of the bed.

Porthos pulls away to look at him with a cheeky grin. “I like the way you think,” he agrees before rearranging d’Artagnan on the bed. He stands up and stripped without preamble, freeing a cock that makes d’Artagnan’s mouth water. Climbing over d’Artagnan, he carefully frames the boy’s head with his knees before lowering his throbbing prick into d’Artagnan’s eager mouth. Porthos groans, his eyes closing as he savours that first slide of his cock against the boy’s hot tongue, and once d’Artagnan has established a rhythm, he lowers his own head to lap at the shaved balls beneath him. He draws a fingertip against d’Artagnan’s hole, making the muscles there flutter in anticipation.

“Fuck, mate, you can’t be a virgin, are you?” Porthos growls.

“Mm-mm,” comes the reply, sending vibrations through Porthos’s cock.

“You’re so fucking tight,” Porthos adds, gently pressing his finger inside, drawing further moans out of the man below him. He spits on his finger as he withdrew it, slicking the way a little better. “God, you’re gonna feel so fucking good on my prick.”

D’Artagnan manages to pull off Porthos’s cock with a gasp, and his hand continues his work while he speaks. “Condom?”

“Shit,” Porthos hisses. “I don’t think I have one.”

“That’s fine,” d’Artagnan replies, shaking his head. “Front left trouser pocket. There’s at least one.”

Porthos laughs, perhaps louder than he intended. “You planned this, didn’t you, you adorable little shit,” he accuses, getting up to hastily dig through the indicated pocket to pull out a strand of three wrapped condoms.

“I mean... I hoped?” d’Artagnan answers, shrugging and looking thoroughly pleased with himself.

Porthos returns to the bed, careful to replace his cock in d’Artagnan’s mouth before returning to his preparations. His tongue strokes and teases d’Artagnan’s hole, and once he’s satisfied with how wet it is, he slips his finger back inside, slowly fucking him with it. D’Artagnan cries out around Porthos’s cock, and Porthos’s breath catches in his throat at how good that feels. His cock twitches against d’Artagnan’s tongue, and the boy pulls off again to beg. “Porthos, please fuck me,” he pleads. “I need you so fucking badly right now, please!”

Porthos shakes his head, determined to work a second finger in alongside the first. “Not yet, you’re not ready.”

“Yes, Porthos, yes I am! God, I just fucking need you inside me!”

Porthos strokes his fingers at a smooth speed inside d’Artagnan’s needy hole, sucking one of the boy’s balls into his mouth and releasing it before answering. “If all we have is spit for lube, I’m not gonna fuck you til you’re nice and relaxed,” he explains. “I don’t want to hurt you and have you regret it later.”

D’Artagnan whines like a petulant child. “I won’t! I’ll be fine! Porthos, please--”

“I said no,” Porthos replies, his tone parental to match. “You’re going to be a good boy and let me open you up first.”

A keen tears itself from d’Artagnan’s throat, and he nods before swallowing Porthos’s cock again. Porthos hisses out a curse and fucks his fingers into the boy a little harder, a little faster, adding saliva as needed to keep the way smooth. After a few minutes, he’s able to add a third finger, and he breathes praise against d’Artagnan’s balls. “Oh, that’s it. There’s a good boy. Look at you, taking that all in. Just relax, you’re doing beautifully. I can’t wait to see what you look like when it’s my cock stretching this tight little hole.”

Every word draws a whimper out of d’Artagnan, who redoubles his efforts to get as much of Porthos’s lovely, thick cock in his mouth as possible. All too soon, Porthos is satisfied with his work and withdraws his fingers, sitting up on the bed. D’Artagnan chases his cock as Porthos moves out of reach, but the man puts a hand to d’Artagnan’s chest, keeping him back for a moment. “Steady on,” he says, carefully tearing open one of the condom packets. He pinches the tip and rolls it onto his aching cock, and only then does he seem to realize that d’Artagnan is still wearing his pine-colored jumper. “Come here, you,” he growls, hauling d’Artagnan up by his armpits until he’s sitting upright, and he pulls the warm, cable-knit jumper over the boy’s head, tossing it to the floor. “Thank fuck you weren’t wearing one of those ugly Christmas things,” Porthos comments with a grin. “Though I don’t know for sure if it would have killed the mood or not.”

D’Artagnan beams at him. “Oh, you know it wouldn’t,” he replies. “That kiss under the mistletoe would have turned you on just as much.”

“You taste like egg nog, by the way.”

“You love it.”

“Right,” Porthos says, hooking an arm around d’Artagnan, who yelps as he’s rearranged again, this time on all fours. “Still looking good back here. Ready?” he asks, stroking his palm down d’Artagnan’s well-muscled back.

The boy drops down with a moan. “Oh yes, please!”

Porthos needs no further encouragement, and carefully presses the head of his cock against d’Artagnan’s ass. He takes his time pushing inside, though with the effort, he forgets to breathe. D’Artagnan, meanwhile, is letting out these breathy little whimpers that are driving Porthos mental, and his shoulders are quivering. “Fuck, d’Artagnan,” Porthos moans, at long last bottoming out inside the slim body before him. “You were made for this. You’re so fucking perfect… you feel so good.”

D’Artagnan keens at the praise and curves his back a little more, forcing Porthos’s cock as deep as it can go. “Oh, yes, Porthos - give me that beautiful cock,” he breathes, eyes closed and jaw loose, resting his weight on his forearms.

Once Porthos manages to take a few deep breaths, he pulls out, thrusting back in with a roll of his hips. The pace he sets up is relentless but gentle; deep, even strokes that reach to d’Artagnan’s very core. D’Artagnan’s knuckles turn white as he grips the sheets, and he bites back every moan that Porthos’s cock tries to punch out of him. Every few thrusts, Porthos manages to place one just perfectly, and d’Artagnan cries out, high and beautiful. Porthos leans down to press his warm chest across d’Artagnan’s back, and a large, controlled hand wraps around the boy’s throat, not tight enough to cut off any air or blood supply, but just firm enough to make d’Artagnan squirm and whine.

“We’re fucking--I’m fucking you--in our boss’s house,” Porthos growls right into d’Artagnan’s ear. “You’re gonna have to be quiet if you want me to keep going.”

D’Artagnan manages to nod, biting his lip. “Please, Porthos,” he whispers, “don’t stop… don’t fucking stop, whatever you do.”

Porthos kisses the nape of d’Artagnan’s neck, and redoubles his efforts, pounding into the boy’s ass at breakneck speed. D’Artagnan presses a hand over the one Porthos has on his neck as the man’s cock grazes his prostate, and he lets out a sharp gasp. “There,” he whispers, desperate, “again!”

Porthos notes the angle of his hips and continues in that same fashion, the thick head of his cock stabbing at d’Artagnan’s prostate over and over. D’Artagnan bucks below him, toes curling and lips parting in silent cries. “Porthos,” he whines after barely a minute of this treatment, “Porthos, I’m gonna come, I need to fucking come.”

“Shit,” Porthos hisses, realizing that, much as he would like to be in his own bed with this sexy man, he is not, and therefore can’t rightly allow him to come all over the sheets they’ve borrowed. He looks around for something, carding his spare hand through d’Artagnan’s hair. “Don’t you fucking come until I say,” he warns, which makes d’Artagnan moan. This kid must really have a thing for being put in his place, Porthos thinks, and stores that tidbit of information away for later enterprises.

“Porthos!” d’Artagnan whines again.

“No,” Porthos snarls. “Not yet, you can hold it. You can be good for me and wait.” There, just within his reach on the nightstand behind them, is a box of tissues. He grabs it and tugs out a few sheets, resting them in his palm before wrapping them around d’Artagnan’s already-leaking prick. “That’s it, good boy, you wait for me.”

“Porthos, please! Please, I need it so badly--”

“Now, boy. Come for me,” Porthos finally purrs, jerking him off, tissues in hand. “Come all over my hand, you fucking beautiful boy.”

D’Artagnan shoots hot and fast into the tissue, crying out loudly enough that Porthos has to slap his spare hand over his mouth to prevent them being discovered. Between the sound and the feeling of d’Artagnan’s cock twitching in his hand, Porthos chases his release as well, his back going ramrod straight as he spills into the condom, buried deep inside d’Artagnan’s tight ass.

Breathing heavily, Porthos carefully rearranges the two of them on the bed until they’re on their sides, d’Artagnan tucked up against him so he won’t get too cold too fast. Porthos strokes his hair and uses a few more tissues to clean him up before slowly pulling out of d’Artagnan’s well-used ass and removing the condom. He ties it off and adds it to the pile of used tissues, and notices that d’Artagnan is shivering.

“Hey, hey, you alright?” he asks, immediately concerned.

D’Artagnan smiles up at him, wrapping his arms around shaking shoulders. “Yeah, oh yes, I’m fine. I’m just-- didn’t realize how bloody cold it was in here. S-so warm downstairs…”

“Here, let’s get you dressed,” Porthos insists, grabbing their clothes off the floor. He helps d’Artagnan get dressed, which both of them take equal pleasure in, and then dresses himself. Offering a hand to the boy, he pulls him to his feet and into another, softer kiss.

“You’re amazing,” Porthos tells him, and d’Artagnan can hear the honesty in the words. “I’d… I’d like to do this again sometime. Properly. Candles and rose petals and all that. If that’s alright with you.”

D’Artagnan smiles, kissing Porthos again. “Candles and rose petals are lovely. But anything would be as long as you’re there,” he replies, blushing at how corny it sounds once it’s out of his mouth.

Porthos chuckles and takes his hand. “Come on. We should get back downstairs, make sure no one’s come looking for us.”

D’Artagnan nods, and Porthos turns off the lamp, and together they step out into the hall. As soon as Porthos closes the door behind them, the door directly across the hall from them opens. D’Artagnan and Porthos freeze in their tracks.

Athos’s face is flushed bright red. Behind him is Aramis, the pretty man whose desk is across the floor from where Porthos and d’Artagnan work. Aramis’s plush lips are a suspicious shade of red.

D’Artagnan raises a hand, unsure of what to do. “Hello,” he says, sounding as casual as possible.

Aramis snorts out a laugh, which snowballs into a heartier, full-bellied laugh.

“Sorry, we thought we were the only ones up here,” Athos replies, his blush deepening.

“You’ve got a, uh...lovely house,” Porthos throws in, since nothing could possibly make this worse.

“Thank you.”

Aramis is still laughing, and d’Artagnan seems to be having a difficult time holding back laughter of his own now.

“We should get back to the--” Porthos begins.

“Yes, excellent plan,” Athos finishes.

“Merry Christmas,” Aramis adds, giggling all the way. 


End file.
